Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Friday, October 2, 2015
No peace on earth... let's go to another planet.
And here I wanted to write about Istanbul...But instead, I find myself angry and sad at the state of our country. Feel free to skip this post if you just want to hear about my travels-- this is going to be a rant about women's rights and gun control. I've been watching the argument about defunding Planned Parenthood for the last few weeks, and increasingly been just exhausted by it. I'm exhausted fighting against a complete and utter lack of facts. I'm exhausted that the same people who are most adamant about the government staying out of the lives of citizens are the quickest to sell out the rights of women to control their own health, wellbeing, and bodies.
Let's be totally clear-- zero federal dollars fund abortion. This is already the law. Federal dollars fund access to birth control, annual health screenings, vaccinations, cholesterol and blood pressure tests, cancer screenings. Planned Parenthood served as my primary healthcare provider for years, when I didn't have health insurance, when I was too broke to even pay my copay, when I didn't feel comfortable navigating a new clinical health system to identify a doctor I trusted, Planned Parenthood went above and beyond to make me feel safe and comfortable despite the fact that they wouldn't get a dime out of me. And I still prefer them. A health clinic built around supporting women is a rare and important thing.
I have seen wonderful, strong, amazing women that I surround myself with brought to tears in the recent weeks watching the most personal decisions they have ever made, including the decision to have an abortion, torn apart and dissected by people who, by nature of their gender, never have to make that decision. Some people don't want, or are not equipped, to have children. From a financial level, the cost of carrying a pregnancy to term to put it up for adoption is much higher than the cost of having an abortion. From a health perspective, an abortion is a safer procedure than giving birth. From a scientific perspective, a fertilized egg is not a life. Eggs are fertilized and do not result in a child being born all the time. From a religious perspective, nobody is requiring you as an individual to have an abortion. If you do not believe in it, you have all the right in the world to carry a pregnancy to term. That's wonderful! If, however, you believe that your religious freedom gives you the right to force your views onto another person, this is not what our religious freedom guarantees. It is the freedom of the individual to practice their religion as they see fit. Not to force those beliefs on people who believe differently from you.
Which brings me to rant number two.... gun control. I dont get it. I really don't. I'm happy to concede that restricting the type of gun being sold is something like a bandaid on a bullet wound (no pun intended). But tens of thousands of Americans die every year because of gun related violence, three fifths through self inflicted wounds. And there are totally non-restrictive ways to prevent this. A national system for purchase approval with a minimum federal standard for purchase eligibility, more stringent mental health and firearm competence checks, required proof of safe storage of weapons, laws governing safe storage, background checks for all gun sales, a national database of registered firearms that private sellers can access to transfer guns to purchasers and also perform requisite background checks. And given the link between guns and suicides, a mandatory waiting period to buy (it can even have a waiver for people who go through enhanced pre-approval for purchasing, similar to TSA pre-screening).
I'm exhausted by our country. So here's some happy news from Iraq instead.
Let's be totally clear-- zero federal dollars fund abortion. This is already the law. Federal dollars fund access to birth control, annual health screenings, vaccinations, cholesterol and blood pressure tests, cancer screenings. Planned Parenthood served as my primary healthcare provider for years, when I didn't have health insurance, when I was too broke to even pay my copay, when I didn't feel comfortable navigating a new clinical health system to identify a doctor I trusted, Planned Parenthood went above and beyond to make me feel safe and comfortable despite the fact that they wouldn't get a dime out of me. And I still prefer them. A health clinic built around supporting women is a rare and important thing.
I have seen wonderful, strong, amazing women that I surround myself with brought to tears in the recent weeks watching the most personal decisions they have ever made, including the decision to have an abortion, torn apart and dissected by people who, by nature of their gender, never have to make that decision. Some people don't want, or are not equipped, to have children. From a financial level, the cost of carrying a pregnancy to term to put it up for adoption is much higher than the cost of having an abortion. From a health perspective, an abortion is a safer procedure than giving birth. From a scientific perspective, a fertilized egg is not a life. Eggs are fertilized and do not result in a child being born all the time. From a religious perspective, nobody is requiring you as an individual to have an abortion. If you do not believe in it, you have all the right in the world to carry a pregnancy to term. That's wonderful! If, however, you believe that your religious freedom gives you the right to force your views onto another person, this is not what our religious freedom guarantees. It is the freedom of the individual to practice their religion as they see fit. Not to force those beliefs on people who believe differently from you.
Which brings me to rant number two.... gun control. I dont get it. I really don't. I'm happy to concede that restricting the type of gun being sold is something like a bandaid on a bullet wound (no pun intended). But tens of thousands of Americans die every year because of gun related violence, three fifths through self inflicted wounds. And there are totally non-restrictive ways to prevent this. A national system for purchase approval with a minimum federal standard for purchase eligibility, more stringent mental health and firearm competence checks, required proof of safe storage of weapons, laws governing safe storage, background checks for all gun sales, a national database of registered firearms that private sellers can access to transfer guns to purchasers and also perform requisite background checks. And given the link between guns and suicides, a mandatory waiting period to buy (it can even have a waiver for people who go through enhanced pre-approval for purchasing, similar to TSA pre-screening).
I'm exhausted by our country. So here's some happy news from Iraq instead.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Saturday, September 12, 2015
On September 11th from Iraq
This started as an email from a post I put on my Facebook page, but I decided since I've been thinking about it all day, it's worth posting more broadly.
September 11th is a weird day for me. I find the way we mourn publicly to be discomforting personally, and I am always uncomfortable with the way some people's stories are told, while others never are. I posted an article yesterday about how Muslim-Americans stories are often left out of the narrative when we remember 9/11. Normally, I like to let things sit by themselves on Facebook. I prefer not to weigh in, and just offer people something to think about. However, it was pointed out to me that maybe I should have commented more on that particular article. So here goes (paraphrased from an email)..
I think that it is especially important when we are remembering our own pain from terrible tragedies to acknowledge the unanticipated but incredible pain of so many communities in the days, months, and years that followed September 11th.
I remember finding a Somali girl whose locker was next to mine crying in the months following Sept. 11 because she had been called a terrorist so many times. She was new to the country and that was basically her welcome to America. I remember dad coming home, picking up cleaning supplies, and going back to help clean up the liquor store of the Sikh guy who owned it, because it had been vandalized because people thought he should "go home". An Iraqi boy I worked with lost his dad to terrorism in Iraq, and then was called a terrorist over and over and over again in his school until he snapped and beat the kid up. And yesterday there was news of another Sikh man getting brutally beat up, which is what actually prompted me to post that particular article. 9/11 was one, terrible, instance of terrorism, but Muslims and Muslim-Americans often watch their countries torn up by it for years, and then if they make it to America, they are referred to and treated as the very thing that made them lose their homes, their loved ones, and their communities. They are basically being called the very people responsible for the worst things that ever happened to them. Imagine someone calling a family member of someone who died in 9/11 a terrorist. This is a daily occurrence for Muslims (and non-Muslims who "look" Muslim) in our country.
I think when we think about our pain and loss, we have to think about the pain and loss of everyone. Yesterday, to me, was a day for remembering the pain and loss that came from that day. And that includes the pain and loss that the Muslim and even minority religious communities experienced, and continue to experience, because of the way people responded following September 11.
I also think that the way you stand up against this particular kind of terrorism is with increased calls for community and inclusiveness of people who are different from you. Terrorism is all about dividing people-- so bringing people in, making people's stories heard, and acknowledging that they matter even though they are not the same stories as yours, is how you stand up against that. So even though the stories of discrimination that came after 9/11 are not the stories non-Muslims remember, they are an equally important part of what happened to our country, and a part that many people don't want to admit. They are stories that I hear over and over, from people who say that every time something bad happens in the world, Muslims find themselves thinking "Please, God, don't let it be someone who looks like me." I, as a white woman, don't have to worry about being held accountable to the crimes of every white person, but Muslims are constantly feeling the need to apologize for their faith and race. And we stand up against terrorism by acknowledging that fact, by reminding ourselves that these stories matter, that these people matter even though they are different from us, and that we can and should do better. So I want to use the anniversary to remember, to grieve, and to learn to do better moving forward. For me and for others.
September 11th is a weird day for me. I find the way we mourn publicly to be discomforting personally, and I am always uncomfortable with the way some people's stories are told, while others never are. I posted an article yesterday about how Muslim-Americans stories are often left out of the narrative when we remember 9/11. Normally, I like to let things sit by themselves on Facebook. I prefer not to weigh in, and just offer people something to think about. However, it was pointed out to me that maybe I should have commented more on that particular article. So here goes (paraphrased from an email)..
I think that it is especially important when we are remembering our own pain from terrible tragedies to acknowledge the unanticipated but incredible pain of so many communities in the days, months, and years that followed September 11th.
I remember finding a Somali girl whose locker was next to mine crying in the months following Sept. 11 because she had been called a terrorist so many times. She was new to the country and that was basically her welcome to America. I remember dad coming home, picking up cleaning supplies, and going back to help clean up the liquor store of the Sikh guy who owned it, because it had been vandalized because people thought he should "go home". An Iraqi boy I worked with lost his dad to terrorism in Iraq, and then was called a terrorist over and over and over again in his school until he snapped and beat the kid up. And yesterday there was news of another Sikh man getting brutally beat up, which is what actually prompted me to post that particular article. 9/11 was one, terrible, instance of terrorism, but Muslims and Muslim-Americans often watch their countries torn up by it for years, and then if they make it to America, they are referred to and treated as the very thing that made them lose their homes, their loved ones, and their communities. They are basically being called the very people responsible for the worst things that ever happened to them. Imagine someone calling a family member of someone who died in 9/11 a terrorist. This is a daily occurrence for Muslims (and non-Muslims who "look" Muslim) in our country.
I think when we think about our pain and loss, we have to think about the pain and loss of everyone. Yesterday, to me, was a day for remembering the pain and loss that came from that day. And that includes the pain and loss that the Muslim and even minority religious communities experienced, and continue to experience, because of the way people responded following September 11.
I also think that the way you stand up against this particular kind of terrorism is with increased calls for community and inclusiveness of people who are different from you. Terrorism is all about dividing people-- so bringing people in, making people's stories heard, and acknowledging that they matter even though they are not the same stories as yours, is how you stand up against that. So even though the stories of discrimination that came after 9/11 are not the stories non-Muslims remember, they are an equally important part of what happened to our country, and a part that many people don't want to admit. They are stories that I hear over and over, from people who say that every time something bad happens in the world, Muslims find themselves thinking "Please, God, don't let it be someone who looks like me." I, as a white woman, don't have to worry about being held accountable to the crimes of every white person, but Muslims are constantly feeling the need to apologize for their faith and race. And we stand up against terrorism by acknowledging that fact, by reminding ourselves that these stories matter, that these people matter even though they are different from us, and that we can and should do better. So I want to use the anniversary to remember, to grieve, and to learn to do better moving forward. For me and for others.
Friday, July 10, 2015
Ramadan and Radio Silence
Sorry for the radio silence over the last month or so. Life in Baghdad has been this combination of bored past having anything interesting to say and incredibly busy, leaving very little inclination to write anything. I've now been out in Baghdad twice, once for dinner on the Tigris river, which offers this beautiful, tranquil centerpoint winding its way through the city, catching me off guard by how much genuine joy it brought me.
The second was for an Iftar (breaking of the fast during the holy month of Ramadan) dinner for work, with partners and supporters of our organization. The dinner itself was fine, if slightly underwhelming (fan as I am of professional, fancy outings with important people...). But after dinner, I got to stay for my friend's 27th birthday party, held in a big, open air tent behind the hotel, equipped with a stage and tv cameras doing giveaways on Gulf television for Ramadan (giving away A/C units, televisions, travel coupons, etc.), coffee, sweets, shisha (hookah-- flavored tobacco smoked out of a water pipe), music, and dance from across the Middle East. These tents are set up at hotels and parks across Baghdad during Ramadan, giving people places to go and enjoy their time after Iftar with friends and family. Ramadan essentially turns daily life on its head, especially when it falls during the longest days of the year like it does this year. For the uninitiated, Ramadan is the month in Islam where Muslims fast from sun up to sun down. This should include everything-- smoking, coffee, water, sex.. not just food. The fasting brings you closer to God, reminds you of all you have in your life, keeps your baser impulses and addictions in check, and gives you a chance to reflect and feel solidarity with the poor. How this plays out in practice, is, of course, different from person to person. Some smoke and drink coffee just to keep themselves civil for those around them (an impulse I totally understand, and, as a coworker, appreciate). Others drink water, but otherwise fast. Some don't fast at all, either for health or personal preference.
But back to the birthday party-- The heady combination of my first real, genuine outing in Baghdad with my friends, and my first Ramadan here made it feel like a prison break of sorts. Not that the guest house is bad-- but you really do start to get a little stir crazy, and getting to experience a taste of normalcy can go a long way in balancing that out. My friends here seem pretty cognizant of that, and ask me regularly if there is anything I need "from the outside," as though they are smuggling me goods.
In the meantime, I spend a lot of time hanging out in my room, listening to music, chatting with friends back home and elsewhere in Iraq, working, reading, and in today's case, drawing.
Speaking of friends elsewhere in Iraq, I have a friend deeply homesick for Baghdad, and just wanting a taste of Baghdad's air-- I'm trying to come up with something to bring him when I leave here. So far, all I've come up with is finding a nice bottle somewhere and making some sort of label for it of Baghdad air, or filling it with dirt, or something-- Baghdad in a Bottle-- and bringing that back so he can have a bit of Baghdad with him. It's hard when I can't go out either. Hard to find the right thing. The depth of homesickness that comes with displacement isn't something I can relate to, but maybe I can do something to help... Anyway, I'm open to suggestions, if anyone has any.
Baghdad really is interesting-- the one thing people keep telling me, keep reminding me, is that Baghdad isn't what you see in the news. And they are right. Baghdad isn't just bombs and destruction-- it's parks and picnics and concerts and art and markets and restaurants and birthday parties. It is fun, and lively, and active. Life continues, even amidst over ten years of pain and destruction. Baghdad is the heart of Iraq-- its epicenter for culture and history. And every tiny taste of it I've been able to get has been totally worth it. It breaks my heart to think of what this city must have once been like, and to hear my friends describe the Baghdad of their childhoods, the one that they struggle to keep alive, while the international media bombards the world with images of hatred and pain. Baghdad is so much more than that, and just like in Palestine, that is the story that people most want to share.
 |
| One of many dance and music performances of the evening. |
But back to the birthday party-- The heady combination of my first real, genuine outing in Baghdad with my friends, and my first Ramadan here made it feel like a prison break of sorts. Not that the guest house is bad-- but you really do start to get a little stir crazy, and getting to experience a taste of normalcy can go a long way in balancing that out. My friends here seem pretty cognizant of that, and ask me regularly if there is anything I need "from the outside," as though they are smuggling me goods.
In the meantime, I spend a lot of time hanging out in my room, listening to music, chatting with friends back home and elsewhere in Iraq, working, reading, and in today's case, drawing.
 |
| Figured I'd change it up and draw a bird instead of stick figures. |
Baghdad really is interesting-- the one thing people keep telling me, keep reminding me, is that Baghdad isn't what you see in the news. And they are right. Baghdad isn't just bombs and destruction-- it's parks and picnics and concerts and art and markets and restaurants and birthday parties. It is fun, and lively, and active. Life continues, even amidst over ten years of pain and destruction. Baghdad is the heart of Iraq-- its epicenter for culture and history. And every tiny taste of it I've been able to get has been totally worth it. It breaks my heart to think of what this city must have once been like, and to hear my friends describe the Baghdad of their childhoods, the one that they struggle to keep alive, while the international media bombards the world with images of hatred and pain. Baghdad is so much more than that, and just like in Palestine, that is the story that people most want to share.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Saturday, June 13, 2015
#Draw4Atena
Now, I am definitely not an artist, and I don't think this will actually change the mind of an oppressive regime. But it's also such a small ask.
Atena Farghadani is a cartoonist in Iran who was imprisoned for 12 years for her cartoons standing up against an oppressive law. Learn more about her work, and the #Draw4Atena call put out by Comic Riffs here. To check out an actual cartoonist's amazing response, check out Zen Pencils (a favorite blog of mine for many reasons).
Atena's response from her conviction is this:
Women like this, with so much courage and strength, amaze me every day.
Atena Farghadani is a cartoonist in Iran who was imprisoned for 12 years for her cartoons standing up against an oppressive law. Learn more about her work, and the #Draw4Atena call put out by Comic Riffs here. To check out an actual cartoonist's amazing response, check out Zen Pencils (a favorite blog of mine for many reasons).
Atena's response from her conviction is this:
Before 2009, I used to ask myself: why some people can't afford their food even if they try so hard, or why some little kids have to do heavy jobs, why some people should be executed by other people, I always asked myself why I'm able to study in university but some people like "Baha’is" are devised from education because of their beliefs, or why my dad always advised me not to talk about politics in university or taxi, specially about the leader! I got lots of my answers in 2009 (elections which ended up cheating and changing the votes and caused millions of people to start protesting against government and an uncertain number of people were murdered in streets or under torture in prisons, lots of people were imprisoned and still are in prison... )
If after 2009 I was present by the graves of 2009's martyrs or I joined their funeral was because that their murderers were never found and government also insulted and treated them with a disrespectful attitude, I just tried to heal their families, because I felt we're all members of one family.
If I did anything against execution is because I think that execution is an inhumane and false punishment, doesn't matter if it's a drug trafficker's execution or a political activist. I imagined my family in their families' position and I felt we're all one family!
If I objected that why our Baha’i (a religious belief) compatriots don't have the right to study was because I imagined myself in their position and I felt they're a member of my family and each person with any nations, beliefs, and thoughts should have the same and equal rights and equality should run in society.
If I drew that cartoon of assembly representatives was because I believe that if someone choose arts as their subject but do not criticize the issues of their society, have betrayed themselves, their superego, and their society.
But about insulting the Iranian Revolutionary Guards and three branches during the interrogation, the IRG officers put lots of pressure on me by repeating this statement that Ms. Farghadani you should be ashamed of God that you sold out your family to your beliefs and you're not giving up and you're not telling us your friends' names! They also repeated this sentence that your mother is in hospital because of you, so because of the pressure I screamed the fact that has been in Iranian people's hearts for years...
Is it not true that we're a number of families which belong to a united family named society? Or the slogan that all the humans are parts of a body made from the same soul? Or the quote that whatever you wish for yourself, wish it for others as well!?
Is it my fault that I tried to do what these slogans are saying? After all I have to say that in my inside court, my superego was my judge, and I'm honored and proud.
I kiss every each of my family members' hands, a mother who taught me pride and resistance, a father who taught me manhood, a sister who taught me toleration, and a brother who taught me curiosity and insistence.Women like this, with so much courage and strength, amaze me every day.
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